


Little Talks

by lysiabeth



Series: Let Me Go In Pieces [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Heroes in Crisis (DCU Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Light Angst, Post-Batman 50, Post-RHATO 25, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysiabeth/pseuds/lysiabeth
Summary: Dick sighs.“He sure did a number on you, huh?” He asks, and Jason rolls his eyes.“Way to go, Captain Obvious.” Jason hits back, and Dick scowls.“I’m just making sure you’re okay.” He says, and Jason has to laugh.





	Little Talks

Cassandra is pretending to read when Bruce finds her in the front room. Legs drawn up underneath her, pot of tea to the side, pillows fluffed. She turns the pages at an even peace, nothing about her body language putting off anything about distaste or impatience, but Bruce thinks he saw the moment she stopped reading the words on a page, and started concentrating on him instead.

 

“You’re limping.” She places the book down next to her.

 

“No, right now I’m sitting.” Bruce replies. Cass sends him a grim smile, as she unfolds herself from the armchair.

 

“You’re limping, but you show no other injuries.” Cass says. It’s true - Jason had kicked right into Bruce’s knee, the one that was still healing from a miscalculated jump some weeks ago, and he didn’t think it was that noticeable, but then again. Cassandra notices everything.

 

“Jas- Red Hood looked worse for wear. That’s something, maybe.” She says. Her elbows are leaning on her knees, posture open, eyes searching. Bruce’s stomach curls.

 

“He knew what was coming. There are only so many warnings I can give him. His biological father’s status as dead or alive gave him no excuse to kill The Penguin like he did.” Bruce explains. Cass shrugs.

 

“I agree. And you know I also agree with you that killing is against our moral code. But the footage I saw on the news re-run that night… The only injury you have to show from your fight on that rooftop is a limp. You left Jason half dead.” Cass says, and Bruce is taken aback.

 

“It wasn’t like that.”

 

“You took your anger out on him. I understand. Had I been in your position - in fact, you and I both know I have been in that position - I too would have made the decision he needed reigning in. But I think you let it get out of hand.” Cassandra sighs, and pulls herself to her feet. As usual, they’re bare. She comes up to Bruce and places her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder.

 

“Is there a point to this conversation, Cassandra. It all seems quite sudden.” He says, and she inhales quickly through her nose before blowing out of her mouth slowly.

 

“The others saw what happened between you and Jason. I’m not sure as many of them are on your side as you would like to hope.” She says, and stands to her full height, her hand grasping onto Bruce’s shoulder before making her way to the armchair.

 

She picks up her book, places it under her arm, and walks out of the room in silence. Bruce exhales, and brings his thumb and finger to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

 

**//**

 

Bruce can hear soft murmuring coming from the kitchen as he descends the staircase, and the sound turns to silence as he enters the room.

 

Damian is sat at the table, Titus at his feet. Alfred is by the sink, washing their breakfast dishes, and Duke’s school bag is half packed on the bench.

 

“Good morning…” Bruce says, goes to kiss Damian on the head like he would every other day, but his boy scowls at him as Bruce approaches, and Titus lets out a warning growl.

 

“Master Bruce, coffee for you in the pot,” Alfred approaches from behind, takes Damian’s bowl away from him and replaces it with a glass of cranberry juice, and Damian gulps it down quicker than Bruce has ever seen the kid drink anything before slamming it down on the table and excusing himself from his seat.

 

He takes the long way around the kitchen, out of the entrance Bruce didn’t come through, and Titus follows after him quick on his heels. Alfred doesn’t meet Bruce’s eyes when he comes to sit at the bench, his coffee steaming hot and the sugar bowl placed next to it.

 

“Alfred?” Bruce asks, drops three spoons of sugar into his cup and stirs slowly, and Alfred turns the sink off.

 

“Master Bruce?” He replies, always the good butler, and Bruce clinks his spoon to the benchtop.

 

“Do you know what that was about?” Bruce asks, and Alfred sighs. He turns to face Bruce, wet dishcloth in one hand and a dirty plate in the other. His pink dish gloves are striking against his navy blue vest and pants he’s chosen to wear today.

 

“I suspect it may have something to do with the altercation between yourself and Master Todd, sir, but I’m afraid you may have to ask him yourself if you want to know for sure. He’s been quiet with me all morning.” Alfred explains, places the plate down, and bunches up the dishcloth in one hand.

 

He’s… anticipating something. Bruce isn’t sure what is on his caretakers mind, but it’s eating him from the inside out, Bruce can see it in the twitch of his eye and restlessness coming off of him.

 

“Is there something wrong, Alfred?” Bruce asks. He takes a sip of his coffee, hopes his diverted gaze will give Alfred a moment to compose himself enough to decide on his answer, and the older man takes in a short breath through his nose.

 

“Sir I… I understand your anger at Master Todd. Fact is, I felt the same way as you when I saw that footage. For all we thought the boy had changed, evidently it is true - especially in his case - that a cheetah cannot change his spots. But do you think, perhaps, the severity at which you took him on-”

 

“Are you seriously going to lecture me about this?”

 

“Yes, sir. I believe I am. He is a boy, still. He is your boy. And he is misguided and hurting, and I understand that time and time again you have given him chance after chance you believe he has done nothing but throw back in your face. But I know as well as you do, or at least I severely hope you know as well as you should, the problems Jason faced when it came to his biological parents.” Alfred says, drops the dishcloth into the sink and steps forward so his hands grip the bench.

 

The gloves squeak against the granite. Bruce pays it no mind as Alfred’s words settle between them.

 

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, Alfred. Willis Todd’s misfortune was no excuse for Jason to start killing again. Again, I add, because this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, because as you just said yes, every chance I do give him, he throws it back in my face and makes a fool of himself but months later it’s all forgotten and forgiven.”

 

“I can assure you it is not forgotten at all. And hardly is it forgiven, either. I dread to think the number of lives Jason carries on his conscience, but that is for him to deal with when he has the maturity and understanding to do so. Something you said many years ago he was lacking.”

 

“And that’s my fault?”

 

“Of course not. Jason is the only one to blame for the lives he has taken. But you are to blame for your continued foot on the accelerator reactions when you decide you’ve had enough of his behaviour. Just like when he was younger, you continue to give the boy no opportunity to explain himself before you’re dishing out an unfair treatment.”

 

“Unfair treatment?” Bruce explodes. He’s on his own feet now, fingers tingling with adrenaline as he grips the granite, a mirror of Alfred. “Unfair treat- He killed a person, Alfred. On live television. He did that while he wore the Bat symbol, _my_ symbol, on his chest for the whole world to see. He had what was coming to him the other night.”

 

Alfred steps back, and gasps slightly.

 

“Master Bruce… I saw that fight, between the two of you, on the rooftop. Perhaps Jason did deserve to be dealt with, but I have to ask myself; did you give such a harsh beating because he killed someone again, or because you let other motivations lead you in a blind rage against your own son?” Alfred asks. The words hang heavy between them.

 

“Jason has made it very clear he is no son of mine.” Bruce says, voice cold as ice, and Alfred drops his head.

 

“Is that why you continued to punch him even when the boy was down?” Alfred’s voice is low.

 

“Jason can take a beating, Alfred. I doubt that’s the worst he’s had.” Bruce explains, because he knows it to be true, but the moment the words are out of his mouth he wishes he could take them back and bury them where they can never see the light of day, because the startled look Alfred gives him is scared and sympathetic and akin to that of someone looking at a stranger for the first time.

 

“I didn’t- You know I-”

 

“Oh, Master Bruce.” Alfred says, and Bruce sinks back down onto the swivel chair at the bench, the smell of coffee making him feel sick rather than comforted.

 

“I don’t know what to do when it comes to him, Alfred. Never have. But he has to learn one way or another, and no other method of communication has got through. Perhaps it’s for the best we parted this way - no longer able to hurt each other when we aren’t in each other’s lives.” Bruce ponders, and Alfred looks at him with pursed lips.

 

“That’s a weak excuse and you know it, sir. I’m not going to tell you how to parent or be Batman, whatever aspect you choose to deal with Master Todd is the aspect you choose, but remember that once you make your bed you must sleep in it.” Alfred says, and he pulls the plug on the sink and throws his gloves against the draining board and does the silent march thing out of the kitchen he used to do when Bruce was little and Alfred had told him off for breaking something or dirtying his good clothes in the garden.

 

Bruce sighs.

 

There’s movement behind him, and he turns.

 

“You catch all of that?” He asks, and Duke turns from where he had been piling his school books into his bag with a sheepish look.

 

“Just the end of it. Sorry, I was going to wait, but the bus has been showing up early this past week and I didn’t want to bother Alfred with driving me if I missed it.” Duke says. Bruce turns his head to his coffee and picks up his mug, then skulls it like the cup isn’t almost full and it still isn’t hot enough to burn.

 

“I can drive you, if you want. I don’t have a meeting until later.”

 

Duke squirms where he stands, and brings a hand up to scratch at his neck.

 

“Uh… Damian and I usually bus together, now. I’m not sure he wants you to drive him- I’m grateful you offered though, Bruce, really. But we’re getting on kind of well at the moment and you driving us might…” Duke brings his hands together and then breaks them up, like acting out an explosion. Bruce just nods.

 

“I understand. It’s good you two are getting along well. You should get going then, if you want to catch the bus. And make sure he has his tie, as much as he hates wearing it the boy’s entire report at this stage is just going to be uniform infractions.” Bruce says, and Duke sends him a small smile.

 

“Just um- Before you go. You’re not… Mad at me? Like the others?” Bruce asks, can’t believe he’s looking to a sixteen year old for validation, and Duke shrugs.

 

“I don’t… I don’t know, to be honest. I mean I think what Jason did was bad, you know killing and stuff. And I don’t want you to be angry with me for saying this, but I think I can kind of see where he was coming from. I mean, I kind of acted the same, when my parents were killed. And it isn’t like The Penguin is a stand-up citizen; not that that excuses it! I just-” Duke sighs. “I’ve worked with Jason on the one occasion. And seen him out of uniform a handful of times too. It just seems like he lets his emotions drive most of his decisions, so I can see why he did what he did.” Duke explains.

 

Bruce isn’t sure what to think. Duke’s hardly on his list of concern for becoming his next failure, but something about what he said definitely sticks.

 

There’s nothing else to be said. Or maybe there is, but Bruce doesn’t want to voice it now and Duke has to go and fetch Damian before they both end up late, so he sends Bruce one last half-smile and then hoists his bag onto his back and leaves the kitchen, Bruce sat alone in the center.

 

His eyes flick to the dishes left by Alfred. Bruce has nothing else to do before he needs to go into the city. He makes his way to the sink, pulls on the bright pink gloves, and runs another sink.

 

**//**

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

“I thought you said this place was secure!”

 

“It is! Or, it’s meant to be. I don’t know.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Harper. This is the last thing we fucking need, especially because I can’t even walk ten feet without needing to sit down.”

 

“Relax, if anyone arrives there’s traps all over the place, and I bought my bow.”

 

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” Dick Grayson, _Nightwing_ says. His face lights up the screens and it makes Jason nauseous, having to look up in the angle they’re set.

 

“Just don’t fucking say anything, Harper.” Jason warns, voice hopefully low enough that Dick can’t pick it up. Roy nods, a small movement of his head. Dick sighs.

 

“You know Kori was my girlfriend, right? I used to stay on that island with her.” Dick says. Jason can’t figure out if it’s a jab or not, surely not, he thought he and Roy were okay, Kori and his breakup had been mutual as far as he was concerned-

 

“She tell you we were here?” Roy asks. Jason puts his hand in his head. So much for not saying anything.

 

“Nah, but once we realised you guys weren’t in Gotham it was just a gamble as to where you actually were. I’ve wiped this place off all the Batcomputer searches though, and no cops or feds are gonna have the resources to find it, so you should be safe.” Dick explains. Jason scoffs.

 

“Would his majesty like a gift to show our gratitude? An invitation to dinner, perhaps? Roy’s the only one cooking while my shoulder heals, though, so I can’t guarantee the quality of whatever’s served.” Jason says, tone mean. He ignores Roy’s argumentative ‘Hey!’ in the background to watch as Dick’s face scrunches up in offense.

 

“I- I’m doing this for you, you know. I didn’t have to painstakingly hack into the Cave interface and save your sorry ass from being hunted down within a week, but I did it anyways.”

 

“Well FYI, _dick_ , we’ve been here almost two weeks now, and you’re actually the only one to have made any kind of contact. Seems like wasted effort on your part.” Jason spits, and rolls his shoulder. It’s sore today, he thinks maybe he might have slept on it funny, and Roy hasn’t told him where he’s keeping the first aid supplies yet.

 

“How are you, Roy? You look better than when I last saw you.” Dick says, turns his face away from Jason as much as the screen will allow. Roy stands up from where he had been slouching on the wheelie chair he’d manhandled Jason into twenty minutes earlier when he’s realised they were being hacked and needed him to watch the security feed.

 

“Yeah, Dick. I’m… A lot better actually. These few days on this island have been cleansing for the soul. I’m sure Jason would agree, if he weren’t too busy trying to burn holes in your skull with his eyes.”

 

Jason gapes. “Who’s fuckin’ side are you on?” He accuses, frowning up at Roy, and Roy laughs before dropping down and planting a kiss on Jason’s forehead.

 

“Always yours, babe. But technically, Dick was my best friend before you, and you know, bro’s before hoes, that whole thing.” Roy says. If Dick is surprised at the affection he’s witnessing in front of him, he smartly stays quiet.

 

“Anyways, I’m gonna go grab those painkillers for you. You know how to end the call if you need to, right?” Roy asks, and Jason shrugs. He’s sure Dick will just hack in again, but if he’s risking Batman’s respect to call them then he figures it must be important. Roy shuffles to the door, which slides open and shut, and then it’s just Jason left in the room by himself.

 

Dick sighs.

 

“He sure did a number on you, huh?” He asks, and Jason rolls his eyes.

 

“Way to go, Captain Obvious.” Jason hits back, and Dick scowls.

 

“I’m just making sure you’re okay.” He says, and Jason has to laugh.

 

“Why? Bruce wanting to check how much of a bad shape I’m in so he knows how little effort he’ll need to finish me off for good this time? Or you gonna run to your GCPD pals, tell ‘em exactly where to hit to make it sting?” Jason asks. Fuck this guy, he thinks, looking like he’s genuinely feeling sympathetic for him. Jason huffs.

 

“I know you’re probably not in any mood to hear this, but Bruce doesn’t speak for all of us who wear the Bat symbol. I wanted to see you were okay, and to tell you,” Dick runs a hand through his hair. “To tell you that I know what it’s like, being on the wrong side of his moral compass. Granted, I haven’t been on that side of him as often as you end up there, and he sure as shit hasn’t beaten me black and blue over it but… It’s Bruce. It’s a bad explanation, but it’s sometimes the only one you can give him.” Dick shrugs, and Jason just shakes his head.

 

“Yeah, well, you and the other Bat brats might be willing to keep letting him get away with that tissue paper thin excuse of his for him to act like an asshole three hundred and sixty four out of three hundred and sixty five days a year, but I think I’m over letting the guy brood around like an idiot on the old gargoyles because someone does something he doesn’t agree with.” Jason says. It feels good to get off his chest - he’s never said that to anyone before, not even Roy, and saying it to Dick of all people is more freeing than he ever expected it to be.

 

“He’s in the wrong here, you know. I mean, not about trying to tell you off for killing The Penguin. That was a dumbass move, even for you. But he didn’t need to go as hard as he did. And I don’t want to make excuses for him, but the guy just got left at the altar and I guess you were the easiest scapegoat to channel his feelings.” Dick says, and Jason scowls.

 

“Selina leaving him at the altar has nothing to do with me. I’m not going to listen to you giving him a pass while I’m sitting here held together by about two meters of medical gauze and tape. That isn’t fucking fair.” Jason says, slams his hand on the desk, and Dick averts his eyes.

 

The room is silent.

 

“Are you- Are you okay? I have some contacts close to you guys, they’re better equipped to look at your injuries than Roy is, if you wanted to-”

 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Dick. Whole family hasn’t in years, you don’t need to start now just because you’re guilty Bruce is taking his mood out on me rather than some low-rate drug traffickers.” Jason says, because it’s true, because it’s expected, because for his whole life no matter how many times Dick promised he’d be the best big brother or Alfred promised he would keep something of theirs a secret, in the end they always ran back to Bruce. It’s what Bruce does, it’s what they’re all guilty of doing. Even Jason.

 

He sighs, and the pressure on his lungs stings.

 

“Okay. Well, when I hang up I want you to know this will all be untraceable and cleared. Tell Roy I say hey, again.” Dick says, and he hesitates for a moment. Jason says he should probably say something, like a good-bye or even some half-assed thank you, but instead he just looks down at his thumbs and stares at them until he’s certain the silence was pressing enough Dick just got the message and left.

 

He looks up. The screen is black. Jason doesn’t know why, but he feels like bursting into tears.

 

**//**

 

“Someone’s a little way from home.” The voice is husky. Warm. Familiar. Selina turns in her chair and sits up a little straighter, wishes she’d worn her hair down that evening so she could have flipped it over her shoulder.

 

“Ms Kane. The same could be said about you.” Selina says, and Katherine Kane smiles at her; pearly white teeth behind a dark lipstick. Selina doesn’t think she’s ever seen Kane in lipstick. It’s shocking on her, but in the good way. Brings out all her striking features - the bridge of her nose, high and wide cheekbones, solid jaw. So much like Bruce, but also so different, in the curve of her neck and the softness in her eyes and plump bottom lip.

 

The face of Gotham aristocracy. Selina smiles at her politely.

 

“Well, not really. My girlfriend used to live around these parts. You, however…” Kate says, and twirls her finger around the rim of her martini glass one, twice. Her nails are short and well manicured. She doesn’t wear any rings, except for a small band on her left ring finger. A Star of David sits between her collarbones on a thin silver chain.

 

“Not many places I can go anymore. Half of the underworld wants me dead, and half of upper-class Gotham wants to quiz me about my wedding. Or almost-wedding. That what you want, Kate? To ask why I left your poor cousin at the altar?” Selina asks. She’s tipsy, her words slurring and hand gripping the glass tumbler a little too tight. Kate shakes her head.

 

“We all have our reasons for things like that. I just thought I’d say hello to a familiar face, but if I’m bothering you I’ll leave you be.” Kate says, goes to pick up the leather purse she’s left on the bar counter, and Selina closes her eyes and mutters under her breath.

 

“Wait- I’m sorry. I just assumed the worst. That wasn’t fair on my part.” Selina says, and holds out her arm some inches away from Kate’s in an attempt to stop her from leaving. Kate assesses her for a second before settling onto the seat again, and turns away to wave over one of the bored looking bartenders.

 

“Can I grab another martini, please? And an, um-”

 

“White Russian, double shot.” Selina tells the guy.

 

“Right, one of those for my friends. Just put it on the Kane tab.” Kate says, and turns back around so she’s facing Selina. It’s weird, for Selina. She thought things would get better having spent so long around Bruce; a tab for this, credit card for that, favour from an old friend here because “ _Don’t worry, anything for a Wayne_ ”.

 

She could have had all of that, she realises. If only her life were that simple. If only she didn’t bring darkness and mess into everything new her life offered her.

 

“So, I take it you’re here on business, not a casual meeting?” Selina asks Kate, and Kate shrugs.

 

“I… Don’t know yet. I’m meant to be meeting someone a few towns over, but I don’t know if it’s as a social call or vigilante call just yet.” Kate explains, and doesn’t go any further than that. Selina doesn’t know any vigilante’s this side of Gotham; it’s the reason she’d picked this place to hide out while some of the dust settled. The last thing she needs is one of Batman’s pals stopping her in some side alley for an impromptu interrogation.

 

“Oh? Sounds interesting. Anyone I may know?” Selina asks, and spares the bartender a glance as he places their drinks in front of them. Kate takes one look at the toothpick with an olive on the end and removes it from her glass, placing it gently on the napkin next to her.

 

That was one thing different about her and Bruce - his concerns surrounding food and his faith were minimal, and watching Kate in the past and even now brings a smile to Selina’s face.

 

Kate takes a sip of her martini. “It’s Jason.”

 

Selina pauses.

 

“That is… Unexpected. I wasn’t sure Jason was talking to any of you, given things with Bruce these past few weeks.” Selina admits. Jason freaking Todd. Probably the only person apart from Selina that causes Bruce a monthly aneurysm. Or used to.

 

“It’s complicated. That’s what I thought too. But he’s apparently investigating some drug trafficker and he needed some extra help. And not all of us Bats have such a clean cut moral compass as the Batman.” Kate says, and it feels like a jab, the tone of he voice and the way she flicks her eyes towards Selina as she says it.

 

Selina smiles. “No, I suppose not.”

 

She downs her drink then, in one smooth mouthful, feels the burn as the liquid slides down her throat, and wipes at the side of her mouth so not to disturb her own lipstick as she does so. She remembers hearing about the news, of the Batman and Red Hood showdown. How people reported that before Batman could go in for his final beatdown he was defeated by some archer, who carried Jason away with him.

 

The Red Hood, missing in action for weeks, just to appear within the grasp of Selina Kyle and Batman’s dear cousin. Three peas in an outcast of the Batman pod.

 

“What did you think, when you heard the news about what Jason did. It didn’t anger you?” Selina asks, and Kate seems to ponder the question for a while, brings her hand up to her necklace and rolls the Star between her thumb and forefinger.

 

“The Penguin is no saint, and we’ve all been victims of Jason’s blind rage in the past. I can’t say I blame him; if my parents had died and I found the killer, I would probably take revenge the same way. Bruce just doesn’t want to accept that - he thinks that because he overcame his parent’s deaths without resorting to becoming a killer himself that everyone else must be able to do. In reality, that’s not how it works. Especially for someone as broken as Jason.”

 

“So you think Bruce overreacted?” Selina asks, wonders what was going through her ex-fiances mind when he saw the footage of his own son pulling the trigger to the weapon he’s so vehemently opposed to.

 

“I think Bruce forgets that despite Jason’s past and actions, he’s still only a boy, a boy who onced looked to Bruce for guidance and care, and a boy far too damaged to take such a gruelling beating. I can’t imagine what the kid is going through; find out one father was murdered by a crime kingpin in your city, and hours later have your other father treat you like that… I don’t know. Seems a little harsh, even for Bruce.” Kate says, and Selina hums in acknowledgement.

 

Can she agree? Selina honestly couldn’t say. Selina watched years ago as Jason took over the Gotham underworld with just a bag of heads and an AK-47. He’s dedicated, smart, and sometimes just downright unpredictable. Had the kid not had his first showdown with Bruce end the way it had, Selina wonders if the kid might have not become Gotham’s most notorious crime lord she’d seen.

 

What a sight that would have been. The Red Hood, former-Robin, who knew each and every one of Bruce’s weaknesses and used it to save the city in ways Bruce wouldn’t even dream of.

 

It’s certainly food for thought, and why Selina asks: “Say, what do you think Jason would say to the Cat tagging along?”

 

//

 

“You know we have strict orders from Bruce not to associate with you. And orders from Batman that if we see you in Gotham we have to report it to the authorities.” Robin says, hood pulled up, arms crossed.

 

He’s got a scowl on, like always. Jason shrugs.

 

“You gonna call the cavalry on me, dude? Or take me out yourself? You’re tall enough to maybe reach my kneecaps now, if you tried.” Jason says, tries to hide a smile when Damian stamps his foot at him.

 

“I am nearly five feet tall, Todd. And I could do more damage to just your kneecaps.” He says, but he pulls down his hood to look up at his brother. “Besides, I don’t see you wearing a ‘red hood’. Or any Bat symbols. For all I know, you’re just a guy, in some budget kevlar and an ugly hoodie, crossing paths with Robin about a drug tip off.” Damian shrugs, and Jason is impressed that Bruce could ever be the biological father of such a smarmy little shit.

 

Then again. His mother is Talia al Ghul. He supposes the kid deserves more credit than he currently gives him.

 

“You got anything for me?” Jason asks, now that Damian has finally brought up the reason they’re meeting in the first place. His face falls, slightly, which Jason can only take as bad news.

 

“Not so much. I’ve been busy with Titans stuff, and Br- Batman is hovering when I try to do anything related to Black Mask. That is… Going well, though. It’s weird, but his reaction to me calling him ‘father’ to his face is something I think I shall treasure for the rest of my life.” The kid is preening. Jason huffs.

 

“Yeah, well, keep on him. If there’s anything shady going on in Gotham, he’s usually the one with his fingers in that pie. You’re the only access point we have to him, and I need to keep you safe but close enough to use you if the time comes.” Jason explains, for maybe the fifth time. Damian just nods.

 

“I have patrol with Batman, now. You should probably go, the GCPD is as useless as ever, but I can’t deny that they have upped city security ever since your little stunt with The Penguin.” Damian says, and Jason nods. He goes to turn and is shocked when something latches onto him; looking down, Damian has curled himself around Jason’s mid-section in a tight hug.

 

“Be careful, Todd.” He murmurs, and then he’s pulling out his grappling hook and soaring into the sky above Jason’s head.

 

Jason feels warm on his hip where Damian had latched on. Weird kid. Above, Damian watches as Jason makes his way through the maze of the docks, and once he’s out of sigh he makes his way through the various warehouses before he’s sat on his and Bruce’s meet-up point.

 

Not that he wants to be here. But Damian loves Robin more than anything except maybe his mother (and his father, when he’s not being a stubborn fother mucker), and unfortunately Robin doesn’t exist without Batman. Not even Damian’s increased interest in Titans business gets him out from patrol when he’s in Gotham.

 

“Robin. You’re early.” Batman says, from behind, and Damian turns to see him. As expected, anger flares up at the sigh of his father, and Damian sets his jaw.

 

“I was checking something at the docks.” he says, because a half-lie is better than a full one, and Bruce gives him a once over before nodding.

 

“It’s quiet out, but Batgirl said something about movement on the East Side. We’ll take the Batmobile.” Bruce says, and then he’s leaping over the side of the building, just expecting Damian to follow. And the thing is, just two months ago he would have - followed his father, no questions asked, but now there’s questions that burn him from the inside, keep him up and night and threaten to rip out of his throat.

 

He’s tired. It’s tiring. Damian follows Batman a few beats after he’s out of sight, and makes his way to the Batmobile. He supposes if there was going to be any night for the blow up, it would be the one after he’s met with Jason for the first time after That Night. He’s given his in, halfway through the minute he’s taking down some goon who’s involved with a new underground brothel, and Damian isn’t even aware that the guy is struggling to breathe until Bruce is ripping him away from him into Batgirl’s arms.

 

He struggles against her. It’s embarrassing, he has more training than she does and the guy he was taking care of doesn’t deserve to go into prison without some marker of what he was doing, but when Bruce turns to face them both his eyes are alight and under that cowl Damian knows that vein in his forehead is probably about ready to burst.

 

“Batgirl. Stay here while the police arrive. I am taking Robin home with me immediately.” He barks, and Batgirl sends Damian a slow look before turning back to Bruce and nodding. That’s all it takes - he’s grabbing Damian by the upper arm and all but dumps him into the Batmobile. The drive back to the cave is silent and the tension could be cut by a knife. Damian pulls off his domino mask as they pull in and is ready to jump out of the batmobile towards the stairs that lead up to the lounge.

 

His father has other ideas.

 

“Where do you think you are going, young man?” He asks, roughly pulls off his own cowl and the top layer of kevlar off his suit, and Damian hesitates. He could make a run for it up the stairs - Bruce is still battling with his suit half-off and he could probably make it to one of the guest rooms or even find Alfred if he needed to, but he isn’t a baby. He can deal with his father when he’s like this.

 

“Nowhere.” Damian hits back, casual, in his ‘I’ve never done anything wrong before voice’, and Bruce points at the chair at the desk. The unspoken ‘sit’ between them, Damian drags his feet and flops onto it. He’s just waiting for Bruce to explode, like Alfred’s screeching kettle on the stove top on a morning or the card games Duke and Cass play with high-stake wagers.

 

“Your behaviour tonight was abominable. You haven’t treated anyone like that in years; I thought we were over this mindless violence.”

 

“It wasn’t mindless.” Damian mumbles, and Bruce spins around to look at him with a fierce look.

 

“What?” He barks; the door to upstairs opens. Cassandra slips into the cave, mostly unnoticed.

 

“I said, it wasn’t mindless.” Damian says back, voice louder, and Bruce sighs.

 

“Then do you mind telling me, young man, what it was that was going through your mind as you beat him to a bloody pulp?” Bruce asks. His anger is raw and dangerous, and Damian hasn’t seen him like this in years - especially not with it directed at him.

 

“He deserved it! You saw what he did those girls, some of them were only a few years older than me! It was sick, and he would never got what he deserves from the justice system. It was just a roughing up. He was still breathing.” Damian sighs, and Cassandra sends him a look.

 

“Damian… No.” She says, before Bruce can cut in. Damian juts his chin out at her.

 

“Cassandra you break kneecaps for a living! That guy got off far better than most of the people you deal with on a night to night basis.”

 

“The people I… That’s different. A low threat pimp is nothing compared to some of the men I see to when I’m on patrol.” Cassandra says, and she’s trying to be patient, to explain, but this live wire between the inhabitants of the house - the whole family - has been building for weeks now.

 

How could it not?

 

“They’re all the same. We’ve seen it - they start as some low level perp and then they’re shooting up the local bank or carting the vulnerable out in shipping containers. It was one man, father, you’re blowing this out of proportion.” Damian says, and Bruce’s fist is clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

 

His voice is low.

 

“Long ago, another boy your age stood in front of me, and told me something similar. And every day, I regret not doing something to stop him; to put roadblocks in the path he was carving for himself. I will not make that mistake again.” Bruce says, and there it is. Cracked open, like one of the antique vases upstairs.

 

Cassandra draws in a slow breath.

 

“I am not Jason.” Damian says, cautious, and Bruce flicks his eyes over to the case that still stands in the Cave after all this time. Damian didn’t understand before; Todd was alive, so why was the memory of him needed?

 

But Todd isn’t alive. At least, not the one his father still mourns to this day. His father is carrying a ghost of a boy with him everywhere he goes, and when faced with the real one he can’t bear it.

 

“You’re grounded from patrol. One week. In the evenings you will train with Alfred and complete your homework for school.” Bruce says. It’s a cop out, so he doesn’t have to answer Damian, so he doesn’t have to talk about Jason, so he doesn’t have to face criticism from his own children. Damian scoffs.

 

“Robin is needed for Titans business. You can’t take him off of that.”

 

“I can and I will! No arguments.” Bruce says, voice raised at his son for the first time, and Damian reels back where he’s sat. Cassandra just looks at her father with a quizzical look on her face. Bruce looks between the two of them.

 

“I’m going to visit your brother. Barbara said he’s still not himself. I expect you to be in bed when I get home - both of you.” He says, a sharp look sent towards his daughter, and then he’s marching across the cave floor and up the stairs, the door slamming behind him.

 

Damian crosses his arms, and huffs.

 

“You got off easy. He was ready for a fight.” Cass says, some moments later, pointedly looking at Damian. He turns away from her.

 

“I don’t care. He has a stick up his ass, and that’s not my fault.” Damian says, and he thinks Cass might tell him off for his language, but instead she just laughs.

 

“He’s not the only one. Most of you do. But, mostly him.” Cass walks past him, “Come, we’ll find Duke, see if we can convince Alfred to make us some hot chocolate.” She says. It’s an olive branch; I’m on your side, I’m your big sister, you can trust me.

 

Damian decides to push it. “I don’t want hot chocolate. I’m going to put shaving cream in father’s pillow and set up my Go Pro to record his reaction.” He says, and Cass nods.

 

“You can do that after hot chocolate though. You know, I think Alfred bought some of those mini marshmallows you really like…” That does him. She knows those tiny pillows of fluff are his only weakness. He pulls off his top layer of the suit and his hood, and follows her up the staircase where their father had stepped moments ago. Duke is in the TV room, a Grey’s Anatomy rerun playing in the background as he types on his laptop.

 

“No patrol?” Cassandra asks, takes her seat in her favourite armchair, and Damian hovers by the door until he spots Ace, snuggled up against the footstool in the corner. He makes his way over, scratches at the back of the hound’s collar and smiles as he makes an appreciative rumbling sound.

 

“I had a biology project due, so I stayed home. How was your patrol Damian?” Duke asks, and Damian doesn’t answer. For some reason, telling Duke about it makes a sour taste appear in his mouth - it feels similar to when he used to tell Dick something he knew he’d be disappointed about. Dick, who refused to see any of them while he figured out his whole amnesia thing.

 

“This is a rather unsatisfactory situation.” Damian says, to no one in particular. Ace huffs.

 

“What?” Duke asks, and Damian sighs.

 

“This whole thing… You actually doing school work, Cassandra taking father’s side in everything, Alfred and father fighting, Dick being shot and waking up and remembering none of us. I even find myself missing Drake and Brown sometimes, just because I know no matter how much my life was failing me I knew they would be dealing with something worse.” He says. Cassandra’s eyebrows furrow at the mention of Stephanie, but Damian continues.

 

“The whole family has lost its mind. Father is beating up Todd like it’s a simple work out, and then sending him out of the city, despite the fact that Gotham is on the brink of one of the biggest drug intakes we’ve ever seen! Ever since Kyle left him at the altar-”

 

“Master Damian, what have I said about referring to people by their last names?”

 

Damian turns. Alfred is stood in the doorway, a tray with four mugs placed on it. Damian nods his head.

 

“Sorry, Alfred. Ever since Selina left our father, he’s become… Preoccupied. Even you don’t like him all that much at the moment.” Damian states, and Alfred is silent as he places a mug next to each of the children, before picking up a mug for himself and sitting down on the couch opposite Duke.

 

“Your father is experiencing turmoil in his life, this is true. The unfortunate thing, for all of us, is that he is an empathetic man - everything he feels, we all end up feeling. It’s just how he works. And, because the turmoil is present in both his work life and personal life, we’re feeling his...frustration...from all aspects.”

 

“He’s a mess, Alfred. I look at him some days and it can take minutes for me to see what emotion it is he’s actually feeling.” Cassandra says, and Alfred just nods.

 

“My dear, I can’t imagine what that must feel like for you. And I wish I could let him know in a constructive way how these things affected you all, but as you said, there are things he’s dealing with in regard to everyone close to him at the moment. Miss Kyle, Master Richard, you three, you all play an important role in his life, and these changes these past few months have not been helpful.”

 

“And Todd. Jason, I mean.” Damian quickly corrects, and doesn’t miss how Alfred’s features darken.

 

“Now that is something that has bothered your father far longer than a few months but… Yes. Master Jason is one particularly large thorn in your father’s side, I’ll admit.”

 

“If only he’d admit it.” Cass says, and Alfred nods. Damian takes a sp of his hot chocolate, and the four of them sit in silence as the Grey’s Anatomy episode plays out behind them. One by one, everyone leaves; Alfred first, taking his tray and mug with him, followed by Duke, who yawns as he packs up his school books. Cassandra follows after him, and Ace follows her, and Damian, alone with only the dregs of milk in the bottom of his mug, makes his way to the kitchen to place it in the sink for Alfred to wash in the morning.

 

Cassandra is there, reading a report of some kind at the bench.

 

“You seem protective of Jason in ways I’ve never seen from you before,” She says, and Damian has to will himself to make no movement other than that of washing his hands. “Why is that?” Cassandra asks.

 

“I grew up with him, did you know that? There was a… Period. Where I was old enough to understand what went on in the pits where mother’s entourage trained, and that the boy with the white streak in his hair was different from them all. Between him being thrown in the Pit and set loose on Gotham by mother he… I don’t know. I suppose perhaps I’m old enough now to appreciate what he’s been through.” Damian says, and Cassandra studies him for a long, long moment.

 

“He’s dangerous, Damian. And I know that Alfred still refers to him as a boy, and Dick likes to reminisce on the days before he died, but he isn’t that boy anymore. You have to remember that.”

 

“You sound like father.”

 

“Perhaps I have to agree with some of the things he says, though. At least to an extent. Jason is uncontrollable. He thinks of no one but himself and neglects to think through the consequences of his actions. Something, if I recall correctly, used to anger you. And I’m not excusing Bruce’s actions towards him - their fight last August was violent and Bruce took it too far; but that’s who they are. Two emotional men, who don’t know how to convey their emotions in a way that reduces an outward blast.” Cassandra explains. It puts a new perspective on things, seeing things in a way that she understands, and Damian stands in the center of the kitchen as she speaks.

 

“I just don’t want you to get injured by that blast, Damian, when it’s all bound to explode.” She says, and Damian nods. She goes back to her report, and Damian goes upstairs, and the commotion he hears when he wakes is not his father like he’d hoped.

 

//

 

Roy doesn’t die at the Sanctuary, like the killer had hoped. Because Jason gets a frantic call from Harley Quinn of all people, while he’s driving through the middle of Goddamn nowhere on his way to meet his aunt and ex-father’s ex-fiance, talking about something going down and his “pumpkin” being in danger.

 

Roy’s in his arms within the day, Wonder Woman with her arms around Jason, and five other heroes dead.

 

He thinks, in hindsight, he probably should have asked Roy to stay with him a little longer.

 

“He needs a hospital, or at least to see someone experienced enough to deal with the bullet wounds.” Diana says, voice calm despite the chaos around them, and Jason thinks back to the island, to the endless first aid supplies and Roy’s bad cooking and Kory’s promise that she’d do anything for him, for them.

 

As if things can’t get any worse, a jet lands in the distance, and Diana is walking off to meet with the last person Jason wants to see, like, ever.

 

Batman. He has the decency to look somewhat disgruntled that his little day spa idea went tits up. And then he spies Jason, sitting in the grass with one hand plugging the bullet hole in Roy’s chest and the other on his head, and sighs.

 

“Leslie can be at the Cave when we get there, but we have to move now.” He says, voice void of any and all emotion, and fine, if Bruce wants to play it like that then Jason can also play that game. He lets Bruce pull Roy up on his other side, over to the jet, onto one of the back seats, watches as he injects him with a painkiller and antibiotics and slaps some gauze over the wound, but the ball of fear is clawing at Jason’s throat because Roy - his Roy - is grey and sweating and doesn’t appear to breathing.

 

Diana gets on the jet with them. Tells Batman that Superman and some others have it under control, and that she can return once she knows Harper is secure - they’re not losing another one, she says, not on her watch.

 

It’s the middle of the night in Gotham when they arrive, and as they exit the jet they’re met with Alfred, dressed in his scrubs already and wheeling a gurney. Cassandra is off to the side too, also dressed in scrub gear, but there’s no one else in sight.

 

“Dr Thompkins is inside readying the materials, we need to move. He’s been in this state for how long?” Alfred asks, drags Roy onto the gurney. Cassandra is straight onto him with breathing apparatus, and their party of mismatched butler, outlaw, and hero marches through to the cave opening.

 

“About half an hour. Maybe more.” Jason croaks out, before Diana can answer. They’re almost there, the cave has changed since Jason last visited but he knows the makeshift hospital wing when he sees it. Bruce turns, blocks off Jason with his body, and holds out his hand to stop him.

 

“There’s not enough room for us all. Let the three of them work.” He says, and Jason gapes at him.

 

“Are you- Holy shit, you’re not even joking.” Jason says, and Bruce steps closer.

 

“The best chance at saving your friend is if you return to that jet and let them work. I’ll have Diana bring some food down.” Bruce growls, and Jason scoffs.

 

“You’re unbelievable. That paranoid I’m going to do something you’re confining me to the fucking jet? Are you serious? No wonder Selina left you at that altar, I couldn’t stand having to spend the rest of my life with a stuck up, emotional, piece of shit like you for the rest of my life.” Jason spits.

 

Diana gasps.

 

Bruce halts in his steps.

 

If someone dropped a pin in the cave right now, you could probably hear it hit the stone ground.

 

“What did you say?” Bruce’s voice is dangerously low. He still isn’t facing Jason, so he continues.

 

“I caught up with Selina, did you know? And Kate. You know, doing real work while you and the League set up your little Sanctuary. And she told me all about you and your engagement, how every fucking night there’d be another drama about how you couldn’t be Batman while also being with her, as if she was even asking you to. You’re so thick, Bruce, that you’d rather hurt and push away the people you love than look in the mirror and realise that maybe it’s your own insecurities that drive you to the breaking point with them, that-”

 

Jason’s expecting the punch, this time. Reaches out and grabs Bruce’s fist with his own, before giving back his own. He’s so angry he’s practically buzzing with it, and he can faintly hear Diana in the background yelling at Bruce to calm down, that this isn’t what he really wants, but the two of them are too busy finishing the interrupted fight from months ago to notice.

 

At some point, he’s dragged away from Bruce. Someone smaller than him, but strong enough to do it. There’s a high pitched voice yelling, but Jason’s finding it hard to make out what it’s saying. He takes in a few deep breaths, tries to ground himself in the arms that are tight around his chest.

 

Time passes. The voice continues shouting, and Jason realises he’s only catching half of it because the voice is speaking in Arabic - Damian, standing over his father, grilling him in his native language with his hands crossed and a face like thunder. Bruce is restrained by Diana’s lasso, cowl off and face thunderous.

 

Jason looks down.

 

“Hey, man. If I let you go do you promise not to throw any punches?” A voice asks, and Jason twists in their grip and comes almost face to face with Duke.

 

Jason nods. Duke’s grip loosens.

 

It’s like emerging from your house after a night of bad weather to sunlight and fresh green grass. Diana lets the lasso loose and Bruce slumps into a slouching position.

 

“Both of you. Upstairs. Now.” She growls, her accent thick in her anger, and Jason shakes a hand through his hair, forgets that he’d shaved it all off, and follows Diana up the stairs to the Manor like a dog with its tail between its legs. Bruce follows suit.

 

“I thought you were going to see Richard, father.” Damian hisses, and Bruce must send him one of those looks, because the boy just starts mumbling under his breath in Arabic again.

 

Jason smirks - Talia definitely hadn’t taught him some of those words.

 

“You two…” DIana sighs, like the air from all five of them goes out of her in the one breath. “Perhaps it is not my place, but as a friend and colleague of yours, Bruce, and as someone who was once a mentor figure to you, Jason, I beg. Please, you must sort your differences. Or come to an understanding where there is no useless brawling and sharp words said between you two every new moon. You are meant to be father and son. One of the strongest bonds in the world, if it is protected correctly. And the two of you have caused each other harm, but while the life of one of our own hangs in the balance downstairs, I beg, come to some understanding.”

 

She turns to Bruce. “He’s not the boy in your case, Bruce. You have to realise that, and yes, you have hurt him and he hurt you, but that is your son. I remember the days after you had lost him the first time - I dread to think what the days will be like if you lose him for good.” She turns on Jason.

 

“And you; I know that I cannot possibly understand what you have been put through, and as a boy especially… But that anger if yours is so quick to appear and reckless in its actions. An emotional tornado, leaving so much damage in its wake. You want so desperately to be listened to, my boy, and yet when ears are open they fall on empty words.”

 

Bruce is silent where he sits, but some of the tension has drained from his shoulders.

 

“I am going downstairs to check on Arsenal. You two boys, off to bed. It is a school night, yes?” She asks, and Jason can see that the two of them are itching to argue, but when Wonder Woman tells you to do something - especially while covered in blood and dressed in battle uniform - you do it. Damian hesitates, before going to Bruce and pressing a kiss to his temple, and he gives Jason a piercing look before disappearing around the corner.

 

It’s the two of them left, and Jason feels like a little boy about to get told off for smoking in his room again.

 

“I’m- About Harper. I never realised…”

 

“Don’t. You can talk about anything just. Just not him.” Jason says, clenches his fist, and Bruce nods.

 

“You know, I’ve wanted to have this conversation for years and now I finally have the chance- I don’t fucking know, Jason. I never have. I give you an inch and you run a Goddamn mile with it and I just… You know years ago, I thought I knew how to deal with that. How to distract you and turn you somewhere else but now I look at you and it’s like I don’t even know you-”

 

“Well you don’t.” Jason says. Bruce turns to face him, then, and Jason sighs.

 

“Diana she… She was right. I’m not that kid in a Robin uniform anymore, Bruce. I do kill people, and I do use guns, and I do believe that people like The Penguin are better off dead than let off with a slap on the wrist just to do something bad again. You’ve known this for years just… Didn’t want to believe it, I guess.” Jason says, and Bruce continues staring at him.

 

“I’m not sorry. I’d shoot him again if I had the chance. The beating, though, could do without that.” Jason says, and makes sure it’s pointed.

 

“You didn’t fight back.”

 

“I said on that rooftop Bruce. Haven’t we already done this? Because we had. We’d come to an agreement and shook hands and moved on and then I fuck up once, kill someone in Gotham for the first time in years, and fuck. That wasn’t a beating, or a lesson, that was you taking out God knows how many years of anger and resentment out on me in one night. I didn’t want to fight you, Bruce. I was defensive the whole fucking fight, thinking, you know, maybe you’d realise and pull back and let me explain myself but you didn’t. So you know… I stopped. Figured, shit, you’ve left me to get beaten to death once, maybe this is some sick full circle where you do it yourself this time.” Jason says. And he’s genuine when he doesn’t mean it to be cruel; just weeks of thought and contemplation and a sad acceptance that maybe him and Bruce can’t exist, not at the same time or as two different sides to the same coin.

 

Maybe Gotham just isn’t big enough for the most of them after all. And Jason thinks that maybe he’s okay with that.

 

“I like what you’ve done with this room, by the way. The paint is way better than that heinous wallpaper that used to be in here.” Jason says, and Bruce looks around.

 

He makes a ‘hrm’ noise, and clears his throat. “That really how long it’s been since you’ve been here? I think we repainted about two years ago.” Bruce says, and Jason nods. Sounds about right - not like he’s making casual calls to the family that doesn’t want him.

 

There’s movement behind them, and Jason catches a flash of black hair disappearing back behind the door frame.

 

“Cassandra.” Bruce calls back, without even having to look. She slowly turns the corner, and walks in.

 

“We- He’s mostly patched up. The bullet went through and through, Leslie just had to clean up, most of the bleeding had stopped already. She wants to do an overnight transfusion and check his bandaging in the morning, and we’ve put him on a mild sedative so he sleeps through the night, but he’s going to be okay.” Cass explains, and Jason exhales one long, shaky breath.

 

“Can I see him?” He asks, and she sends Bruce a short look before looking back at him.

 

“When Leslie and Alfred are done, you should be able to. I’d check with them first, though.” She says, and then she’s leaving the two of them again, probably to make her own way to bed. As if on cue, Jason yawns, and he attempts to stifle it.

 

“I shouldn’t have made you stay in the jet. That was cruel.” It’s as much as an apology Jason is going to get, at this point. He sighs.

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“You can… Stay here tonight. Alfred usually has some of the guest rooms set up, I’ll get him to show you when he comes up.” Bruce says, and stands. He hesitates for a moment.

 

“We can talk more, in the morning. Over a coffee and a good night’s sleep, it might be better.” Bruce says, and Jason is hesitant to agree but nods his head in affirmation anyways. Bruce is by the doorway when he pauses, and turns back to face Jason.

 

“I do, and always want, what’s the best for you. And I see now that I was, blinded, I suppose, by my own ideas of what that would be for you that I didn’t give you any room to move and do that for yourself. I’m so sorry for hurting you, Jason. Tonight and those weeks ago and every time before that… You’re the one thing in my life that has been my constant challenge, not even Selina or Damian has been that for me. It’s no excuse, but I hope that puts into perspective a little bit why I act the way I do with you.” Bruce says, and Jason is stunned into silence as the man turns to leave without giving Jason the opportunity to reply.

 

//

 

Things don’t go back to normal. They don’t play happy family after one evening of chaos. In reality, things never work like that.

 

A son does talk to a father though. Damian, some nights later, still grounded from patrol, takes his homework from the day down to the Cave where his father works and sits alongside him, one of them in a suit, the other in their pyjamas.

 

In the corner, the medical bay is half cleared, only the gurney and some clean bandages left out an indicator at the men who were here before.

 

“Is he coming back?” Damian asks out of the blue, eyes set on the corner, and his father continues to stare up at a computer before sending him a sideways glance.

 

“Who?” He asks, still typing away.

 

“Jason, I suppose. Either of them.” Arsenal had looked rough. Pale and bruised and the ghost of a smile on his features. Nothing like when Damian had worked with him and Nightwing. Two men Damian has lost to this life, with only one of them certain in coming back.

 

“Harper was injured, he needs time to heal. I suppose Jason will be staying with him until that point.” Bruce explains. He’s calmer, at least. Doesn’t get the tense line in his shoulders when Jason is brought up like he did just a mere week ago. Damian nods, and turns back to his math worksheet.

 

The clock ticks. Bruce gets up, makes a movement towards his son, claps him on the shoulder and bids his goodnight before pulling his cowl on and leaving for the evening. Some minutes later, Duke follows, dressed in his Signal suit.

 

Damian makes his way upstairs at some point, aware that it must be close to his bedtime and Alfred will be looking for him to tell him to brush his teeth. There’s an old photo in the hallway, hung just to the side of his bedroom door. It’s some years old, but kept in pristine condition in the expensive frame it’s kept in and continued care from the house butler.

 

Three men, or rather one man and two boys. The man has soft and relaxed features but no smile, one boy standing next to him with the man’s arm over his shoulder, the other boy sat in front of them and holding up a peace sign even though they’re dressed in suits and clearly at some fancy charity event that has no place for such behaviour.

 

The three of them look at peace, captured in the frame for ever, safe from time and growing up and the threats of the real world. Damian pays it a long look, as he does every night, before calling for Titus to come to his heel, and makes his way into his bedroom.


End file.
